


An Angel for Christmas

by Snowcleo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Christmas, Christmas Tree, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowcleo/pseuds/Snowcleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates being alone on Christmas Eve. *Spoilers for Season Six*</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my darling Carlie Beth as a Christmas Present

The tree in the corner was a sad affair, drooping in the steamy heat of the diner. Dean stared at it moodily as he waited for his order. Christmas Eve and he was alone. Sam was off with some skank he’d picked up at the hotel bar. Frankly, Dean wasn’t sure if the soulless automaton pretending to be his brother even knew what Christmas meant or why he should be spending it with family rather than with some pneumatic girl just this side of being a hooker.

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled for it, futilely hoping it might be Lisa, but the number was unlisted. “Hello?” he mumbled, nodding thanks to the waitress as she set his plate down in front of him.

“Dean?” The deep, unmistakable voice rumbled through the phone line.

“Cas?” Dean asked, surprised. “You still have a phone? You know if you’d told me you still had a phone that would be a lot easier than having to holler at the heavens any time I want to reach you.”

“Never mind that,” Cas said dismissively, “Where are you?”

Before Dean completely finished telling him, the angel was walking through the doors of the diner. He sat down across from Dean, his trench coat sliding across the plastic seat, and waved off the waitress before she could approach to try to take his order. For a moment he stared at Dean as if he were trying to remember the words to some complicated monologue before finally saying, “Hello Dean.”

“Hi Cas,” Dean sighed. He just knew Cas was going to need him to do something difficult and dangerous and it would probably be very important to the safety of all mankind, but dammit he was tired and anyway, didn’t a guy deserve to have off on Christmas Eve? “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, Cas frowned down at Dean’s plate. “You are not eating a hamburger.” He sounded confused.

Dean glanced down at his turkey and dressing. “Ah, no, I’m not. I thought I’d go with something a little more in the holiday spirit, you know?”

Cas switched from frowning down at Dean’s plate to frowning up at Dean’s face, obviously not understanding.

“It’s December 24th, Christmas Eve. Ring any bells? Birth of Jesus? Jolly Ol’ Saint Nicholas?” Dean hinted.

Cas’ face wrinkled up even more. “Jesus was not born in December and in any case, I do not believe that St. Nicholas was present at his birth. For that matter, I do not think that the saint is a particularly jolly man.”

Dean stared at him. “Wait, so Jesus is real? Where the hell was he during that whole Apocalypse thing a year ago?” Then, as Cas opened his mouth to reply, Dean held up a hand. “No, you know what, I don’t wanna know. Forget I asked. What do you need me to do?”

Cas accepted the subject change without comment. “There is an object I need you to look out for. It went missing and I am afraid it may have fallen into the wrong hands.”

Dean nodded. “Sure, I can do that. What’s the object?”

“It will look like a…” Cas’ voice trailed off as he caught sight of the Christmas tree in the corner. “Dean? Why is there a fake tree in the corner of the room with a dead bird on top of it?”

Dean choked, swallowed his mouthful of turkey, and said, “Dude, that’s a Christmas tree. And that’s not a dead bird on top. It’s a plastic angel. You think you’d recognize one of those.”

The furrowed brow was back. “I do not know any angels that look like that. We are beings of pure thought and light. No one wears a long white robe or has wings made of chicken feathers.” Cas sounded as if his family pride was offended, never mind that he spent most of his time fighting against his various brothers and sisters.

“Yeah, well, since most of us can’t see what you look like, we just made some shit up. Sorry if you don’t like it.” Dean went back to eating and Cas resumed glaring at the tree, until Dean finally distracted him by asking questions about the missing item and the talk turned back to business.

After Dean finished his dinner, he ordered a slice of pie for both of them—“It’s pie, Cas. You’ve got to have pie on Christmas Eve.”—and they ate in their dessert in silence. As they pushed their plates away both their gazes were caught once more by the pitiful holiday decorations.

“I'm deeply disturbed by that plastic angel. That can't be comfortable,” Cas finally said.

Dean chuckled at the mental image that brought up. “But you’ve gotta have an angel on top of the tree.”

“Why is that?” Cas asked.

“Because, it’s tradition. You know, because of the angels singing to the shepherds about Jesus being born,” Dean replied.

Cas gave him a sour faced look and Dean’s heart panged once more for his absent brother. “Dean, I told you before, that is not how things really happened at Jesus’ birth.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I told you before that I didn’t wanna hear how we got it wrong. Christmas traditions are traditions and that’s just how it is,” Dean said firmly. He glanced back over at the ratty tree. “Lisa had a beautiful angel for the top of the tree last year,” he remembered. “I wanted a real tree. Those are the best; they smell so good. When I was about six, we went to Pastor Jim’s for Christmas and he had a real tree,” he explained to Cas. “But Lisa already had a fake tree, so we just put that up. The angel was hers from when she was a little girl. Her grandmother made it. I helped Ben put it on top of the tree and then we turned out the living room lights, plugged in the tree lights, and all three of us sat there around and ate cookies. It was the best…” His voice broke and he paused for a moment, staring down into his mug of coffee.

Then the words started rushing out of him, like a dam had busted, “And now Lisa won’t talk to me and she wouldn’t even let me send Ben a present or talk to him. And I don’t know where Sammy’s gone. Not that that thing is really my baby brother, but it looks like him and god-help-me sometimes it sounds like him, which is even worse. And it’s Christmas Eve and I’m alone, completely alone, and I’ve never felt so much like I just wanted to give up. Not even last year when Sammy was gone and not even the year before when Michael was after my ass and the world was going down the shitter. Not even the Christmas after Mom died.” Dean’s eyes were burning and he blinked rapidly, willing himself not to lose it right there in the diner.

When he got himself mostly under control— _push it down, push it all down and ignore it_ —he looked up. Cas was staring at him seriously. “I am sorry, Dean. I wish I could find a way to make Sam better, but I just don’t think that—“

Dean waved his hand, cutting Cas off once more. “It’s okay. I know you tried and I appreciate it.” He dug in his pocket for money for dinner. “Thanks for joining me, Cas. I’ll keep an eye out for that thing, okay? If you need me, I’m staying in the hotel next door, room 6.” He went to stand up, but Cas’ hand on his arm stopped him. “Cas? What’s the matter?”

The angel’s face looked oddly young and shy. “Dean? Can you meet me in the parking lot in five minutes? I have something I want to show you.”

Dean wanted to ask what, but something in Cas’ eyes stopped him. Instead he nodded, “Sure. Five minutes.” As soon as he said it, the angel was gone. Dean quickly looked around, but the few other occupants of the diner were lost in their own lonely Christmas Eve dinners and didn’t seem to have noticed the sudden disappearance of the trench-coated man.

Four minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, Dean was standing beside the Impala in the parking lot, shivering in the cold night air. Exactly three seconds later there was a rush of wind and the sound of wings and Cas stood in front of him. Dean was too used to the angel’s unexpected appearances to even bother reminding him about personal space and besides, Cas was warm and blocked the wind. Before Dean could ask where they were going, Cas said, “Close your eyes.” Dean obeyed—without question for once—and felt two fingers gently touch his forehead.

The world shifted under his feet and the air around him smelled suddenly of pine trees. Dean opened his eyes. He was standing in a clearing in a forest, surrounded by growing Christmas trees. Some were only about knee high, but others were approaching six feet tall. One stood proud at almost eight feet. It was dusted with snow and its branches glimmered in the light of the full moon. “It’s a Christmas tree farm,” Cas’ deep voice rumbled out from behind the tree. “It took some searching to find one that had a tall enough tree.”

Dean peered into the shadows under the tree, but still couldn’t see where Cas was. “Tall enough for what, Cas?”

Instead of a reply, there was the familiar beat of wings, rising up behind the tall tree. As Dean watched, a figure moved into the bright moonlight, wings spread wide. The graceful form landed softly on the very top of the tree, wing tips blowing gently in the cold night air.

It was Cas, lit from behind so that all Dean could see was the shape of his wings. His coat billowed out like the white dress of the plastic ornament. Cas was the angel on top of the tree, a tree just for Dean. “I believe it is also tradition to give gifts at Christmas, is that correct?” Cas’ voice floated down from on high. “You said that you would like a Christmas tree that was real.”

Dean nodded, unable to speak. Tears ran down his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Finally he swallowed the lump in his throat enough to say “Thank you, Cas. It’s perfect.”

“I am sorry that I cannot sing for you as well, but my real voice…”

“Would make my ears bleed, I remember,” Dean gave a watery laugh and then fell silent.

They stood there a long time, the hunter in the clearing and the angel on the tree, looking at each other and listening to the sounds of the night rustling through the cold farm. After a while Dean wiped his face and looked at his watch. 1:07 AM. It was Christmas Day. He looked up, “It’s Christmas morning, Cas.” Then he blinked as the wind whirled around him. When he opened his eyes once more, the angel was standing in front of him.

“Time to go home?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded, closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead into the warm fingers as they touched him softly. A lurch, a shift, and they were in the parking lot again, next to the Impala. Dean reached out and squeezed Cas’ shoulder gently. “Thanks, Cas. I really needed that. It was a great present.”

Cas smiled slightly, “I am glad you appreciated it.”

“Hey, come inside for a drink?” Dean walked over to the door to his room, fishing the key out of his pocket.

“Unfortunately I think I must—” Cas broke off what he was saying and grabbed Dean’s arm. “Wait, why have you nailed a ward above the door?” He looked around. “Are you having trouble with witches?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, looking up at the door. When he saw what had caught Cas’ eye, he burst out laughing. “No, Cas, that’s not a ward. The hotel staff decorated for Christmas and they hung mistletoe over the door to every room.”

“To ward away witches who would interrupt the Christmas celebration?” Cas asked.

“Not exactly,” Dean smiled. “It’s another Christmas tradition. When two people meet under the mistletoe at Christmas, they’re supposed to kiss.” He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, but before he could walk into the room, a firm hand on the back of his neck stopped him. It tugged his face down to meet two warm, slightly chapped lips which pressed against his own in a soft kiss.

For a second Dean didn’t know what was happening and then he remembered what he’d just said to Cas. Cas, who took everything literally, including the phrase “two _people_.” Of course he would assume that meant _any_ two people, not “a man and a woman.” Dean started to pull away, to correct Cas’ mistake. But the lips against his own were gentle and it had been so long since anyone had kissed Dean and he was lonely and Cas was kind. Besides no one was here to see or care. So Dean gave in and allowed Cas to kiss him.

That’s when he realized that Meg was right. Cas was _good_ at this. Dean wondered briefly if Cas really had picked up his knowledge simply from watching one porno, but he decided that he didn’t really care. Cas’ lips were firm and his body was warm and his hands tangled delightfully in Dean’s hair, sending little tingles down the hunter’s spine. And then Cas sighed and opened his mouth slightly and Dean was lost. He groaned, brought his hands up to cup Cas’ face, and pushed the angel’s slender body back against the door frame. His tongue plundered the inside of Cas’ mouth. Without even knowing he was doing it, he lifted his knee to brush up the inside of Cas’ leg. Nothing in his long life as a seducer of women had prepared Dean for the wonder of kissing an angel dressed like a rumpled male tax accountant.

When he finally pulled back slightly--breathless, heart thumping in his chest--Dean looked down at the figure in his arms. The blue of Cas’ eyes was almost lost to the wide black of his pupils and his lips were swollen and red. Every fiber of Dean’s being wanted to dive right back into those lips, but a tiny bit of common sense left in the back of his mind told him that even at one in the morning, it probably wasn’t a good idea to stand in the doorway of his hotel room in the middle of some podunk town and make out with what looked like another man.

“Do you want to come in for a drink? Or something?” His voice sounded rough and deep and he fumbled for the right words.

Cas’ face crumpled. “I can’t, Dean. I’ve been away too long as it is. I am sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dean soothed, running the back of his fingers gently across Cas’ cheek. “I understand. Stay safe, okay?” He leaned forward and kissed Cas on the forehead. “And come back when you can.”

The angel nodded as Dean released his grip and stepped back into the hotel room. “I will. I promise.”

Dean smiled at him. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

The wind blew and through the beating of wings Dean heard, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
